The Nibelheim Journals
by Flutist Girl
Summary: An ordinary girl is given the chance to change the fate of Nibelheim and the four SOLDIERs that fall under her care, but at a price that she isn't sure she is willing to pay. No Romance or pairings. Pre-Post Nibeheim. Generally Crisis Core compatible.
1. Sacrifice

The Nibelheim Journals - Chapter One

_No one had bothered to tell them what was going on, though they stood in the midst of the chaos, faces solemn to mask emotion._

_Sephiroth had eventually approached a man in a long white lab coat without a word of explanation to his comrades. He was arguing furiously, at which the scientist shrugged sheepishly and turned his back. He turned to a Turk, repeating the same inquiries in a loud, tense voice that was all but foreign to his calm, subtle nature. _

_But it seemed that information was unauthorized, even for one with as high an authority as Sephiroth._

_No one missed how the proud Soldier's shoulders were drooping, his face held in a calm façade only with much effort, which drained the color from his already pale face._

_"Nothing?" Zack asked as his commander returned, the undertones of his voice tainted with nervousness._

_"Nothing," the General affirmed. "And no one here has any idea…?" He trailed off suggestively, almost hopefully._

_"All I know," Genesis began slowly, holding up a book bound in scarlet velvet, embossed with gold, and held together by ruby clasps, "is that she left me this."_

_"And me, this," Angeal said, holding out a sapphire medallion, carved with ancient hieroglyphics, the mysterious runes inscribed on the golden chain as well._

_"And I got this…uh…thing," Zack added, extending his hands to reveal an emerald velvet box, locked with a tiny golden clasp. By his look of confusion, they could tell that he hadn't received the key as a part of his inheritance._

_Sephiroth turned his back, signaling that discussion was over, but Zack wouldn't let him go without similar questioning. "Hey, what about you? Out of the four of us she was by far the most concerned about you…"_

_Sephiroth did not turn, but tensed visibly. He took a long time to survey the room. This once had been a sanctuary for any who sought it, a place of healing for the body and the soul, but now the magic of this location was gone, replaced with a gaping void. Scientists, Turks, and even the media had found their way here. Each had a different reason for why they raided her diaries, her hand-written novels, the poetry and music that she had so freely poured her soul into. Her treasures, things she valued far above her life, were nothing to these cold and callous men._

_Then he did adjust so he faced his comrades, his face too emotionless not to be masking some terrible conflict. Numbly, he held out his hand palm down, and then spread his fingers. From a silver chain that was entwined around his fingers dangled a heart shaped locket._

_No one spoke for a long time, and when Zack gained the courage to, his voice was timid and weak. "So…she's dead?"_

_Sephiroth closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and nodded._

A/N: An idea that I would rather have not posted. **_Will be continued_**, but I can't promise any particular speed of the updates, as my life is hectic and this is more of a "back-burner" piece.

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	2. A New Face

The Nibelheim Journals - Chapter One

The reports never ended.

Thousands of papers littered his desk, sealing him in a fortress of frustration that promised an attack of carpel tunnel. It amazed him that he could fight for hours, maybe even days thanks to his enhanced strength, but the simple, repetitive movements of his signature tired him as he had never been on the battle field.

In the middle of one fluid, sweeping signature, the ink ran out, leaving the _t_ only half formed and without a tail to connect it to the next letter. He sighed, shook the pen and pressed the tip to the paper again. When that didn't work, he grabbed a scratch sheet of paper and scribbled furiously until the flow was unblocked. This temporary solution hadn't even allowed him to properly finish the one remaining letter of his name.

The sad thing was that this pen had just been opened that morning. It hadn't been a cheap, disposable one either.

Unceremoniously, he dropped the pen into the waste basket beside his desk and then dug through the drawers to find another instrument to finish the reports with. There was a pencil, but that made forgery all the easier; the Turks would not be pleased in the slightest.

And so, consoling himself with that face that it was a break from the monotony, he went in search of a suitable pen.

He left his elegantly furnished office, closing and locking the door behind him in case the prankish Reno decided to try anything. The halls were empty, which was understandable. The digital clock on the wall blatantly stated that it was two in the morning. It had been impossible to tell. The lights blared on at all hours of the day, and there were few, if any, windows to allow the sunlight to be used as a measure.

He didn't mind the solitude of the hallways. He was used to living in a crowd of people and still being isolated. If there had been people, greetings would have been curt, respectful, sometimes in the form of a salute rather than a voiced acknowledgement of his presence. It was part of who he was, and it didn't really bother him too much. Respect came with being both a SOLDIER first class and General in the army.

The hallway came to an end, leading to a nice, respectable commons where his men would gather to socialize. Though tiled floors, steel benches, blue glass pillars, and the Shinra company logo kept it from feeling homey, it was a light-hearted place for most.

For him, it was just a stop on the way to the elevator. If he had wanted to relax, he would have done so in the training room, sword in hand.

His sturdy black leather boots made little sound on the floor, sending tiny, barely decipherable ripples of sound through the spacious room. Time was not an issue, so he walked slowly, taking his time, enjoying the drafts of fresh air that the others had complained so much about. It took only one walk through this room to remind him of how stuffy his office was.

But his finite hearing soon detected another presence.

He couldn't see anyone as of yet, but he heard the rapid, muffled breaths that came at irregular intervals. A tiny moan, while suppressed and probably undetectable to anyone else, was as loud as a siren to the general's ears. There was a steady tapping on the tile, far too rapid and soft to be running.

He stopped for a moment, listening, though he had known where the sounds issued from almost instantaneously. He debated simply walking by, but that wouldn't do. If it was a SOLDIER, he was out of dorms after hours, and he would not tolerate that. Sleepy men did poorly in battle.

He slowly approached the bench that poorly concealed the figure. His keen eyes picked up the differences in the shadows that betrayed the exact location of this intruder. A pair of tiny, bare feet was exposed in the gap from the bottom of the bench to the floor. It was shaking uncontrollably, and he wondered for a moment if the figure was wounded.

But why hide in the commons then when the hospital was a floor up?

He didn't much care for greetings or subtleties. "What are you doing here?"

The shaking stopped, and the breathing was not decipherable for several long seconds. He stood in front of the couch, not attempting to approach further than that.

There was no answer.

"Show yourself," he commanded. "Or can you stand?"

A small intake of breath, and the figure moved so that, through the holes in the steel, he found himself staring at a pair of wide, bright blue eyes. "I…can," a timid voice stammered.

It was the voice of a woman. No, he corrected himself, a mere girl.

"Ma'am, this floor is off limits to civilians."

The eyes widened, and the still indistinguishable face seemed to pale. "I…I didn't mean…" The flustered voice betraying panic might have been comical. "I-I j-just want-wanted…"

"Come where I can see you."

A small hesitation, but the girl rose to her feet.

He had not been too far off to think her a child. The girl before him was tiny. Though her body was that of an early to mid adolescent, she was very close to being considered petite. Half of her body was still hidden by the bench when she stood. Hair that could have been seen as dark blonde or light brown fell to the middle of her back, her long bangs concealing half of her fragile looking, heart shaped face. Her entire body was slender, perhaps too thin to be healthy. Long, thin fingers that looked soft and beautiful were ended by heavily chewed nails and a callous on the side of her middle finger. Her cheeks were a dark crimson, and her hands were clenched tightly together. Her head was bowed, the position reminding him of a child who waited to be punished.

"I was supposed to see someone…but I got so terribly lost…" She shuddered under his gaze and whispered, "I am so…so sorry." Her face showed guilt that was far too severe for her situation, like she had murdered someone instead of simply losing her way.

He continued with little pause. "Whom were you supposed to meet?"

She stared at him as if she didn't comprehend. He noticed her look at his long, flowing silver hair and guessed that she was no longer paying attention to his voice, no doubt intrigued by this phenomena. He arched a silver eyebrow, knowing his catlike, emerald eyes would remind her of her place. As intended, he drew her very abruptly back into reality with a little gasp tearing from her lips. Was that a flash of fear in her eyes? He was used to this; it was a typical enough reaction. But somehow, fear just wasn't the right word…

"Uh...yeah!" she got over the stupor of thought quick enough and dug through a pocket in her well worn pants, pulling out a folded piece of paper with the official Shinra seal in emerald ink. She handed it to him, waiting with flushed cheeks for the verdict.

It was a valid document. He fingered where Tseng, leader of the Turks, had signed, and his pale fingers came away streaked with fresh ink that had been applied not an hour ago.

So she wasn't an intruder, at least, not on purpose.

"You're to see Lazard?"

"That's what I was told, sir." Her voice was still so timid and weak that it bordered on annoying him. She could speak up; he wouldn't maim her for that.

He nodded once and folded the paper again, handing it back to the girl. "Take the hallway behind you. Turn left and continue all the way down the hall. Take another left, and ride the elevator to the fifth floor. There should be enough personal there to guide you further."

The girl smiled timidly, but genuinely. "Thank you, sir." She looked around, and then extended her hand shyly. He reacted in instinct, his strong, calloused hand entirely enveloping her soft one. Her grip was as tentative as a butterfly's, and he gripped her with such strength that a small wrinkle at the corner of her eyes betrayed a barely suppressed wince. He didn't think he had hurt her, was she that frail?

"You're…" she stopped, stammered, opened her mouth but no words emerged. She then shook her head, abashed, and continued on. "Thank you. What did you say your name was again, sir?"

"I didn't," the man clarified. But she still remained silent, persisting to have his name. He relented. "I am General Sephiroth."

She mouthed the name a few times silently, seeming to enjoy the taste of the name, how it rolled off her lips. "It's a beautiful name," she said, smiling. "Melodic…powerful, no doubt, but so soft…"

Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure how to respond to this impromptu analysis so he quickly changed the subject. "And you are?"

"I am Nadira. Just Nadira. Thank you for your help." She smiled and waved, then turned and walked down the hallway he had gestured to.

"Take care," he called after her, but he kept an eye on her as she moved away. It turned out to be a good thing.

At the end of the hallway, she turned back to him. "Which way did you say it was, again?" she asked, abashed. That familiar blush crept up her cheeks again, a beacon of color even from the distance

"Left," he repeated.

"Oh…okay." She turned her back and surveyed the two paths before her, seeming unsure of herself. She nodded once and then turned, seeming resolved in her decision.

But she had turned right.

He closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. Small wonder she had gotten lost before. Sephiroth decided then that it would be best if he escorted her to her destination, for the sake of both her safety and his sanity. A mishap on her part would doubtlessly give him another stack of reports to fill out.

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A/N: This chapter was brought to you by Election Day. (aka, no school) Thank your local candidates.


	3. Bonding Time

The Nibelheim Journals - Chapter Two

One advantage of being General in such a prestigious program as SOLDIER was that he was always given a wide alley of his own wherever he went. No matter how congested the area the throngs of citizens always parted. Some saluted, most lowered their head and averted their eyes.

Even though there were relatively few people due to the late hour, Nadira didn't like the attention, and the reverenced silence made her jittery. Sephiroth didn't enjoy how she clung to his side like a little child, stumbling to keep up with his long, elegant strides. He swore that if she jumped or stepped on his foot one more time he was going to throw her over his shoulder and settle the matter that way.

Only the idea of the indignant noises she would doubtlessly make kept him from fulfilling the idea when her heel stamped his toes again. Not only were his toes sore, but she managed to fall flat on her face, squealing all the way down.

Tangled in her own arms and legs, she wormed her way up despite the human knot she had become. Her gangly legs seemed at loathe to support her, and she only regained her footing when he grabbed her wrists and hoisted her to her feet.

The only red he could think of that even came close to the shade of her face was the lights on the SOLDIER floor that signaled a breach of security. She did have a glow of her own, to complete the analogy.

Afterward, there was always a three foot distance between the two. It was not Sephiroth who had adjusted his path. She looked a little green as she was forced closer to the few stragglers in the hallway.

Sephiroth decided that, if nothing else, this girl was very, very colorful. Even Zack hadn't shown this wide a spectrum.

"Ah, gracing your subjects with your presence, your majesty?"

Sephiroth didn't have to turn to know whom that voice belonged to. As predicted, he showed his face, walking out of an adjoining hallway, crimson runic blade in hand, clad in his trademark black attire and ruby overcoat. His red-auburn hair was slightly disheveled, and there were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, but he still held himself tall and proud, expression cool, smiling only half jokingly.

"Genesis," Sephiroth greeted blandly. "Sparring this late?"

"Second's floor is empty," Genesis replied, lightly flicking his gloved hand across his eyes to move his long bangs. "You might want to take advantage of it." The man grinned. "Consider yourself challenged."

"Maybe later," Sephiroth replied calmly. "It would be a welcome release from the office, but I can't hold off these reports any longer or the Turks will be on me."

Genesis nodded apathetically and turned his gaze to Nadira. He smiled coyly, not unkindly, but she still just stared blankly at the man. "Who's this?"

When it became apparent that Nadira would not introduce herself, Sephiroth took the privilege. "This is Nadira. I found her on the SOLDIER floor."

Genesis lightly clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Naughty little rebel then?"

"Hardly. She was summoned by Lazard but she's…directionally challenged."

Genesis chuckled lightly and shook his head. "I can see. She missed it by a mile. No offense, Nadira, but really…"

Nadira muttered something in a voice that was an odd combination of mouse-like squeaks and whispers. Genesis raised an eyebrow. "She does talk, doesn't she?"

"You heard that. Compare that to your definition of 'talk'." Nadira heated, turning that alarming shade of red.

"Well, what does Lazard want with her?"

"No idea."

Genesis shook his head coyly and turned to walk away. "Well, at any rate, try to practice conversational skills on the way down there."

Nadira's face was no longer red. It was purple.

"He did not mean any harm," Sephiroth offered, not wanting her to appear at Lazard's office with a face looking like he'd strangled her.

Nadira fumed silently to herself.

Sephiroth decided to let it go. He pushed the button of the elevator and waited, letting Nadira stumble her way in first before he glided in after her.


End file.
